The Walk Home
by Trekkieb
Summary: Epilogue to Homicide: The Movie. Bayliss makes a decision on his walk home.


**Disclaimer: **Homicide: Life on the Street does not belong to me, and neither do any of the characters that appear in this story. No copyright infringement intended, even though it's open to debate whether or not fan fiction _is_ copyright infringement.   
**Rating: **PG for subject matter **Warnings: **None   
**Summary:** An epilogue to the Homicide: Life on the Street movie. Bayliss makes a decision on his way home.   
**Author's Notes:** This is my first Homicide fic, but I just couldn't let the movie end like it did. g> Thanks go to Claire, Jane, and Jo for checking this over and for their encouragement. :) Feedback always welcome, the good the bad, but please not too ugly. g> Enjoy! 

**_THE WALK HOME_**   
**By [Trekkieb][1]**

  
  


The cold Baltimore night was uncommonly silent as Detective Tim Bayliss walked down one deserted street after another. No cars drove by. No people passed him on the sidewalk. There were no outside distractions to pull him from his thoughts. 

He walked slowly, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his long overcoat. He knew he didn't have to walk home. He could have hailed a cab, or he could've asked Munch or Lewis for a ride. But after the face-off between Pembleton and himself, after they'd gone back inside, after Frank had gone to introduce himself to Mike Giardello, Tim had decided he needed a breather. 

He vividly remembered those tense moments as they'd gazed out over the city lights. A small part of him wondered why he'd confessed to Frank, but mostly he was relieved to have shared the burden. Day by day, week-by-week, since he'd killed Ryland, the guilt had been slowly adding to itself. But he knew that, given a second chance, he'd do the same thing again. Ryland was a vicious monster who deserved what he got. 

Funny, but he'd been so sure Frank would forgive him. And another piece of his heart, having broken at the news of G's attempted murder, died a little when Frank told him he couldn't. He'd been so surprised he didn't think he could speak. He must have said something, though, for the next minute the two of them were headed inside. 

But he'd meant what he'd said to Frank. It was really the only thing left that he could do. The only thing. Yes, that's what he would do. Tonight. 

With that finally resolved, Tim took a deep breath of the brisk night air and let it out. It felt like the weight of the world had lifted somewhat from his shoulders. It was a good feeling. 

Tim Bayliss made his way home. 

*** *** *** 

"Dealer takes two," said Al Giardello, formerly of the Baltimore police force. He drew two playing cards from the deck in his hand and discarded his previous cards. 

"More coffee?" one of his playing companions, Beau Felton, asked as he rose from his chair. 

Steve Crosetti and Al both agreed cheerfully. 

Felton filled all three ceramic mugs, then reclaimed his seat. With a grin, he pulled a small box from his coat, which lay draped over the back of his chair. He opened the box to show a half dozen plastic wrapped cigars then offered them to his friends with a satisfied smile. 

Giardello accepted one happily. He unwrapped the plastic and inhaled the scent of the fine Cuban cigar. "Hey," he said, "being dead's not so bad." And he laughed. 

The three men went back to their poker game, playing with gusto for imaginary money. The fourth chair, empty, sat to one side. Its occupant would come. Al wondered who exactly it would be, but he didn't worry about it too much. He had a poker game to play. 

Some time later, somewhere around their tenth or twentieth hand, they were interrupted by the sound of footsteps stopping outside the door of the room the three formerly-living men occupied. Al looked in question at Felton and Crosetti, but they didn't answer his silent query. They merely set down their cards and leaned back in their chairs. 

The doorknob turned slowly, its faint noise audible in the silence. The door opened, and a minute later Tim Bayliss entered. Confusion was evident on his face. He walked a few steps inside then stopped when he saw the other men. 

Sadness flickered briefly through G but was quickly replaced by the gladness of seeing another friendly face. He stood up from his chair and, arms open wide, approached the detective. "Tim!" he exclaimed happily as he hugged Bayliss briefly but fiercely. He stepped back, his hands remaining on Bayliss' shoulders. 

Tim looked at Giardello in surprise. "G?" he asked. 

"In the flesh. Well, not exactly." 

Bayliss looked around, his eyes settling on Crosetti and Felton. They smiled warmly at him. His own smile was weak and unsure. "Is this, uh, Heaven or…" he let his sentence trail off. 

Al laughed and clapped him on the shoulder, then led him to the poker table. "Neither, neither. Here, sit down. We've got a chair that's just for you." 

Tim sat down and looked at the scattering of cards. 

"Hey," Felton greeted, offering his hand. Tim shook it and smiled genuinely for the first time. 

Crosetti shook hands with him as well then gestured to the cards. "Five card draw, jokers wild." 

Tim shrugged out of his coat and asked, "What's the pot?" 

Giardello laughed again. "Well, since we don't have any actual money, as high as you want." 

They all grinned, and Felton dealt out a hand. As Tim gathered his cards together, he cast a glance at his former boss. "Uh, G, there's something I think you should know. I want to tell you, actually… Well…" 

Al could tell that whatever he had to say was serious. "Hey," he said, waving one hand in the air. "We've got all the time in the world for talk, Tim. All the time in the world." 

**The End**

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